


Count (and Wait for Thunder)

by hopelessbiromantic



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau is a Disaster Lesbian, Drunk Sex, F/F, First Time, Light Angst, No Dialogue, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, a few more times after that, awkward gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbiromantic/pseuds/hopelessbiromantic
Summary: The first time it happens, it's a drunken accident. Beau won't let herself get attached.After all, Yasha always leaves.





	Count (and Wait for Thunder)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *Writes about Beau and Yasha's first kiss, very soft fluff*
> 
> Also me: OK but like...what if they fuck?
> 
> Me: Can't argue with that logic

The first time it happens, it's by accident.

Beau isn't exactly sure how you manage to _accidentally_ sleep with someone – but that's definitely what happens. She can't be held responsible. Not at all.

There are a lot of contributing factors. They're in a half-decent tavern, for once, in a half-decent town. It's too hot out, the air heavy and full, ready to storm; the place is packed, the band is good, and Beau is just on the cusp of _too drunk_ – not at the blackout stage quite yet, but there'll definitely be a killer hangover to deal with in the morning. Fjord cuts her off and orders her upstairs to get some sleep – he's such a good friend, that guy, always looking out for her.

She tells him as much, her free arm pulling him into a hug that sloshes ale down the front of his armour. Molly pries her off him and kicks her towards the door and she stumbles away, swearing at him good-naturedly.

Yasha is coming out of her room – or going in, Beau doesn't care, because either way. _Yasha_. Beau staggers into her half-deliberately, taking the opportunity to support herself on those arms. Yasha looks down at her, eyes full of surprise and...something else, and Beau kisses her.

It never would have happened if Beau was a little more in control of her impulses – it might have gone no further than a drunken kiss in the hallway if Yasha didn’t kiss her back just as hungrily. But they're both more than a little drunk and this thing between them, this awkward flirtation, has seemingly got them both on edge.

And Beau can't help but think that the weather might have something to do with that look in Yasha's eyes. That maybe Yasha needs a release.

Beau has to raise herself on tip-toes to kiss her properly, and the resulting drunken wobble ends with her leaning heavily against Yasha. Yasha's arms wind absent-mindedly around Beau's waist, holding her there; Beau licks into Yasha's mouth, grazes Yasha's lip with her teeth, and Yasha groans softly.

It's all the encouragement Beau needs. She deepens the kiss and shoves a hand in between their bodies, going for the laces on Yasha's shirt; no time to take it slow, right now she's all about action. She makes enough of an opening to get her hand inside and roughly palm Yasha's breasts. Yasha's breath catches in a way that sends desire pulsing through Beau, hot and thick.

Beau manages to free a breast and cups it in her palm. She wants to take it in her mouth but is loathe to break their contact just yet so settles for thumbing the hardening nipple, easing a knee between Yasha's legs. Yasha lets her head loll backwards and Beau immediately goes for her neck, kissing hard, experimenting with a measured amount of teeth. She bites down and Yasha _moans_.

Yeah. That figures.

She begins to grind against Yasha, biting sloppily at the exposed neck, Yasha's breath coming fast in her ear. Yasha somehow has the wherewithal to reach clumsily for the door handle and pull them backwards into her room. Beau had forgotten – and not really cared – that they were still in the corridor, in full view of anyone who were to come upstairs, but now being in Yasha's room suddenly opens up a world of possibilities.

She hears a _thud_ as the door closes. Yasha's puts her back to it and Beau is pulled flush against her once more. Her senses are overwhelmed with _Yasha_ – Yasha's mouth on hers, Yasha's breasts, heavy and soft to the touch, the feel of Yasha's hand working its way inside Beau's pants. Strong fingers find Beau's clit and press down, hot and fast and unforgiving. It's exactly what Beau needs; she comes almost immediately, grunting out a curse, burying her face in Yasha's neck, muscular arms holding her upright as she shudders. If she were a little less drunk she'd be embarrassed at her neediness, but one look in Yasha's eyes – wild, darker than usual – shows she's just as worked up as Beau is.

Almost before Beau finishes riding out her orgasm Yasha is pushing her back towards the bed, both of them shedding clothes as quickly as possible. Beau kicks off her boots, helping to undo the rest of the laces on Yasha's shirt and tearing it free; Beau's robes are awkward, but finally they get everything untied and tossed aside. Somehow their positions switch and it's Yasha who stumbles back onto the bed first, naked, a faint sheen of sweat giving an almost etherial glow to her skin - but Beau doesn't have time to appreciate much of the view as she unceremoniously drops her undershirt and falls to her knees.

She parts Yasha's knees with her hands and pushes her face between her thighs, finding a quick, hard rhythm against Yasha's clit with her tongue as she eases two fingers inside her. Yasha's thighs press against Beau's ears, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, the other reaching up to fondle her breasts, every muscle taut as Beau fiercely drives her towards the edge. Yasha’s chest heaves as she pants, muttering under her breath; Beau catches her name and some words in a language she doesn't know. Beau drops her free hand to her own crotch, grinding indiscriminately, bringing herself off a second time just as Yasha throws back her head and gives a hoarse, shuddering cry.

Then Yasha is pulling her up to straddle her lap, trapping her in her big arms, kissing her hungrily, pushing her tongue into Beau's mouth. Beau is intoxicated – from the ale, the sensation of Yasha's breasts against her, the taste of Yasha in her mouth – as together they fall into the bed.

It's hours before they're fully sated, collapsing in a sweaty tangle of limbs. Beau's head is reeling – there's a lot she wants to say – but she's drunk and overwhelmed and _fuck_ , she wishes she was better with words. She falls asleep in Yasha's arms with half-formed questions on her tongue.

When Beau comes to consciousness early the next morning rain is lashing against the window, lightning starkly illuminates the room, and Yasha is gone.

-~-

The third time it happens they aren’t even drunk.

Yasha has been back for a few weeks, and showing no signs of leaving - but Beau isn't letting herself hope. Yasha is an enigma, but long absences are one of her reliable talents. They've been on the road a few days, and though Beau likes sleeping under the stars, she misses the chance for inns and alcohol and the opportunities they provide.

Beau comes to in the dark, disoriented, with a heavy hand on her shoulder, slowly waking up properly to see Yasha’s face close and almost luminous in the moonlight. It's a welcome sight, and by now not a completely unfamiliar one.

She sits up, taking in the rest of their sleeping party in what's left of the light from their dwindling campfire. All quiet.

Right. It's her turn to keep watch.

Yasha doesn’t say a word, just turns and makes her way towards the tree line, and Beau thinks nothing of it until Yasha glances back at her and there's something dark and hungry in those mismatched eyes. Beau kicks off her sleeping bag and scrambles to catch up.

They make it barely thirty feet into the trees before Yasha has her pinned against the nearest tree. She shoves Beau’s pants over her hips, hoisting Beau in the air effortlessly and holding her there with one arm. The bark scrapes across Beau’s back but she barely feels it; Yasha's fingers slide into her and she comes before her feet touch the ground.

It’s a little while later, with her knees in the dirt and her face and fingers delving into Yasha’s heat, when Beau remembers she should be keeping watch; but then Yasha lets out an animalistic growl of pleasure and grips her hair and she forgets everything.

When they finally make it back to camp – clothes hastily rearranged, fingers intertwined – they find Caleb sitting on a tree stump with Frumpkin in his arms and a baleful expression on his face. Beau realises they must have set off his alarm when they left the camp. She tries to shoot him an apologetic glance but he studiously avoids her gaze.

She feels guilty for a moment – that is, until Yasha pulls her to a spot on the edge of the camp, guides her to the ground and wraps her arms tightly around Beau's waist. She’s asleep almost at once with Yasha’s breath on the back of her neck.

They wake up like that several hours later, limbs stiff and heavy with cold. Beau turns her head and sees a layer of dew in Yasha's eyelashes; she has to resist the urge to kiss her awake.

The others are already up. Fjord, in the middle of kicking earth across the campfire, catches her eye and winks. Beau grins back sleepily as she sits up, ignoring Jester, who's standing behind him waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Yasha stirs behind Beau, who's almost to her feet; she reaches down to help her up, their hands staying linked for a few seconds too long. Molly pretends to gag.

Caleb pretends he doesn't know them, and the day begins as normal.

–~-

By the tenth time or so, Beau feels they’ve reached a kind of routine.

It doesn’t happen every night – not _every_ night. But more often than not, whenever they stay in an inn, or chance across a quiet moment during the day, or find an opportunity to sneak off from the group, they end up in the same place.

Most of the time it's quick and hard, both of them willing to take what they can get in the short time allowed to them. They've almost been caught more than once, sometimes by strangers, sometimes the other members of their party; Beau thinks it's funny but is endeared by how flustered it makes Yasha. She promises they'll be more careful – and then Yasha ghost her fingers across Beau's bare skin, or the light hits Yasha just so, and Beau is powerless to resist the impulse to pull Yasha into the nearest dark corner and kiss her.

There are also times it isn't quick. Isn't hard. When they have the time to indulge and a bed to take advantage of. Beau has never much liked it being slow and soft, but this...this she could get used to.

She has discovered she loves being underneath Yasha, loves the feeling of a strong arm pushing her down into the mattress as Yasha slowly brings her up to the edge and over it, again and again.

Yasha seems to know Beau's body as well as she does herself; every kiss, every touch has her trembling with want. By this point Beau is pretty much an expert on pushing buttons of her own. She's learning where and how to touch Yasha to make her unravel beneath her hands. Yasha doesn't talk much, gives away almost nothing of what's going on in her head, so Beau studies Yasha's tells, drinks in every subconscious reveal her body makes, taking whatever she can find without asking for words.

She knows that Yasha touches her breasts when she's close. She knows that pain – not much, just _enough_ – will get her there a little faster. She knows how to bring forth growls of pleasure from deep in Yasha's chest – and even better, how to tease out moans, softer and higher than she thought possible.

She knows that Yasha likes to cuddle, curled up behind, knees tucked in behind Beau's, arms wrapped around her waist. She knows that Yasha has nightmares, and that sometimes Beau wakes up damp from Yasha's tears.

Words come after. When they're lying together, both of them heavy with fatigue, Yasha whispers against her neck, and Beau whispers back until her voice lulls Yasha to sleep.

Sometimes she's gone when Beau wakes up, and Beau tells herself it's fine.

–~-

Beau has stopped counting. Yasha, she assumes, never started.

She still doesn’t know what to call it, this thing they have – she tells herself she doesn't care. She doesn't try to be subtle; the first few times she snakes an arm around Yasha in public, or threads their fingers together, or presses a kiss to her cheek, it raises an eyebrow – but pretty soon the others become used to it.

She wouldn't go so far as to call them a _couple_ , but…

Sometimes, late at night, safe and sleepy in Yasha's embrace, she lets her guard down. Lets herself imagine what it would be like if they could keep doing this forever; if she could somehow stop Yasha from ever leaving.

The thought of it fills Beau with something she’s never felt before; has never wanted to feel. Beau, who has never allowed herself to show vulnerability in front of anyone, is fine with being vulnerable around Yasha.

When Yasha lays her down and settles on top of her she feels safe.

Yasha's weight presses Beau into the bed, enveloping her in the warmth of her body. Yasha's fingers are inside her, thumb barely touching her clit; touching her so gently she can only just feel it. Beau basks in the soft waves of pleasure, threading her fingers through Yasha's hair. The pace increases slowly, so slowly, and Beau swells with pleasure, almost crests, and then Yasha pulls her back, raises her up and back down again, the wave never quite breaking. Yasha's fingers play her expertly, sure and firm and achingly gentle, and Beau's breath hitches, higher and higher until she's gasping for air.

When she finally comes it's so intense it robs her of breath; her mouth opens in a soundless cry as pleasure washes over her, fills her, consumes her. It lasts an eternity, and through it Yasha’s eyes hold her there, Yasha’s eyes the colour of the storm.

Yasha brings her back down gently, moving up to tuck her body against Beau's side, brush the hair from her eyes, press kisses against her cheek and jaw until Beau turns her head to catch Yasha's lips.

Beau isn't naive. She knows this can't last. If she knows one thing for sure, it's that Yasha always leaves. But she's here right now; and right now Beau lets herself forget.

Yasha kisses her, and Beau thinks _this is what love feels like_.


End file.
